


you can devastate my personal space (i never liked it anyway)

by recollection



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Handcuffed Together, M/M, also i taught myself how to remove a shirt while handcuffed so ur welcome, basically consists of troy gay panicking for at least half of this, he loses all sense of sanity whenever abed compliments him or looks at him a little too long, i wrote this purely bc the show writers are cowards for never showing trobed holding hands, set sometime in season 3 after annie moves in, which is a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recollection/pseuds/recollection
Summary: Troy and Abed wind up handcuffed together, and the Study Group makes a bet on how long they’ll last.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 20
Kudos: 101





	you can devastate my personal space (i never liked it anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Song title is from Powerless by Waterparks. 
> 
> Like I said in the tags, I wanted to have them hold hands, and the only way for them to consistently hold hands was to be handcuffed, and so this fic was born.

“These are so cool!” Troy gushes, admiring the snug fit of the prop handcuffs around his right wrist. “They’re so authentic, and  _ strong. _ Look!” He raises his arm, forcing Abed’s left hand upward, no choice but to follow. “I can’t believe we really have a pair of handcuffs from the first Batman movie.”

“You’re right,” Abed nods, a glimmer in his eye as he traces the cool metal with his free hand. “It is really cool.” He pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time, noting they should’ve already left to meet up with the study group. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late. Where’d you put the key?”

The grin drops from Troy’s face and he straightens up, analysing Abed’s face for a sign he’s joking. “I thought you had the key.”

“No, I distinctly remember handing you the key so you could open the handcuffs for us to try out, and I told you not to lose it.”

“Well, I must’ve given it back or something.” He shrugs his shoulders, jostling Abed’s arm slightly with the movement.

Abed goes quiet, and Troy wonders if he’s scanning through his memories. “Are you sure it’s not in your jeans pocket?”

“Aha, yeah, I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered putting it in my pocket, Abed.” He shakes his head comically. Troy wouldn’t have been foolish enough to put the only key they have in his pocket, only to subsequently forget about it. 

Abed seems to ponder his response. “Okay, I believe you. We can deal with this later.” Abed pulls Troy across the room, picking up his satchel from where it sat on the kitchen counter. He turns to Troy. “You ready?”

“Ready?” His voice goes up a pitch, and Abed just nods like it’s simple, which he supposes it is to Abed. “We’re not going out handcuffed together, Abed. People will talk!”

“It’s okay. We can hide the handcuffs with our sleeves. See?” Abed gestures to their arms, the chain being the only visible part of the handcuffs, and Troy’s suddenly thankful he wore his hoodie today. “Hidden. We can pretend it isn’t there. No one will notice.”

“They’re gonna notice if we’re attached at the wrists the entire day!”

Panic rises in Troy’s voice, so Abed grabs hold of Troy’s handcuffed hand, interlocking their fingers. He rubs his thumb in a soothing motion, one of the many ways he’s come to learn eases Troy’s nerves. “Troy, we’re already inseparable. Everyone already thinks we’re dating, anyway.”

Troy nods, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply. Abed’s reasoning is logical and this whole plan is simple enough. He’ll just hold Abed’s hand for the entire day, which no one will question, and then they can deal with this when they get home. They can do this. 

—

It quickly becomes apparent they can’t do this when they’re standing beside the car and simultaneously realise Abed would have to scramble over the seats and inner console in order for Troy to drive. (Troy actually suggests they attempt it, but Abed just stares expressionless at him. He sighs and shakes his head as he realises that yeah, it actually is a stupid idea.)

They take the bus instead.

Abed happily hums the tune to  _ Daybreak, _ seemingly not at all phased when he has to sit on Troy’s lap due to the only available seats being single ones. Heat rises up the back of Troy’s neck as he desperately tries to look anywhere but at the group of girls giggling at them. 

—

When Troy and Abed stroll into the study room fifteen minutes late, hands entwined, no one’s surprised, per se. Shirley raises a curious eyebrow at Annie, because surely if the boys were dating, Annie would know and would’ve told them, right? But Annie just subtly shakes her head, a little puzzled at how her roommates dating could’ve passed her perception. But irregardless of the  _ how _ and  _ when, _ the study group quickly don accepting smiles, patiently waiting for the announcement that yes, Troy and Abed are dating. 

That doesn’t happen, however.

“Uh, guys?” Annie calls out warily, her expression slipping into one of concern as Troy and Abed remain motionless by the entrance, their eyes trained on the empty chairs of their corner.

Troy holds up a finger, his voice sounding oddly formal as he says, “One moment, if you will.”

He turns to face Abed front on, leaning in close, his right hand still clutching Abed’s as their arms noticeably strain with the odd angle. His free hand rises to cover their mouths from the prying eyes of their friends, words rushing forth in what Troy intends to be a whisper, but comes out at just below speaking volume. “How are we going to do this?”

“We could just tell them,” Abed offers, adding a simple shrug that causes the chain linking them to audibly  _ clink. _

(They miss the perplexed and questioning looks thrown Annie’s way, and her shoulder shrug and mouthing of “I don’t know what’s going on” in return.)

“And have them laugh at us?” Troy lets out an annoyed laugh, before scowling when he realises he can’t cross his arms in frustration. “No, thank you.”

Abed’s shoulders drop slightly as he stares into Troy’s eyes, giving his hand a light squeeze. “They’re gonna find out eventually.”

“I know! I just… It’s so stupid,” Troy breathes out, lips forming a pout. He gestures at the table in exasperation, the frantic movement causing their sleeves to shift and reveal the handcuffs. “I mean, we can’t even sit in our seats, cause I’m on your left now.”

The room becomes silent enough for them to notice, and Troy’s eyes find Abed’s face, who’s staring down between them. He looks down in horror, dread taking over when he realises the handcuffs are on display. He rushes to yank his sleeve down, suddenly aware of the four sets of eyes on them. 

Troy risks a glance up, noting the gape mouths, quirked eyebrows, and tilted heads. Thankfully Abed answers their unspoken questions, saving Troy the embarrassment that would have followed a wave of excuses and jokes. “We bought the handcuffs from the first Batman movie and wanted to test them out.”

“Uh…” Jeff starts, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to process the situation unfolding before him. “Okay… Can I ask why you’re still wearing them?”

Abed just stares blankly at Troy, who looks at the ground in defeat. “We, uh, we–” Troy sighs after Abed pointedly squeezes his hand. “ _ I _ may have misplaced the key. Anyone could do it, really. I’m sure it happens all the time.” 

The four seated share looks once again, smiling at Troy in an  _ of course that’s a common and regular mistake to make _ kind of way, until Jeff points out what everyone’s thinking by asking “So, why haven’t you used bolt cutters to take them off?” (Which he instantly regrets when he sees the look upon Abed’s face as he says he would rather die than damage the handcuffs.)

Troy nods solemnly in agreement. “Yeah, what he said. Plus we spent, like, two months rent on these, so…”

Annie gasps. 

Bewildered, she looks at the other members of the group for back up. Jeff just sighs, because  _ of course _ they spent two months rent on some silly prop, but he leaves them be, choosing instead to settle further into his seat. He’s going to let this play out, because one, he’s known them for two and a half years and knows there’s no possible way he can talk them—particularly Abed—into cutting the handcuffs off. And secondly, but most importantly, because he knows he’s in for an entertaining week. 

“Okay, if you’re not going to cut them off, can we at least study for this Biology test?”

Troy apprehensively sits in the seat next to Britta, flashing her an awkward smile, while Abed settles into Troy’s chair with ease. The distance between them is enough for their fingers to slip free from each other, so they shuffle their chairs closer, rejoining their hands and holding tight. 

“You know, you guys don’t have to hold hands all the time if the chain’s slack like it is now,” Britta points out, drawing Troy’s attention to the relaxed chain links. Abed follows the gaze and loosens his grip, intending for Troy to let go, but Troy simply secures the grip and raises their joined hands. 

“Yeah, but I like holding Abed’s hand. They’re always so soft.” His face holds a warm smile, and a similar one flickers briefly across Abed’s features before returning to his neutral expression. “Plus,” he continues, turning to give Abed his most bright smile, “seeing as I’m handless, I guess this means my best friend in the whole entire world is gonna have to write out notes for me.”

“I suppose that as your best friend, I could do that. I could also remind you that as your best friend, I know you’re ambidextrous and are perfectly capable of taking your own notes.” Abed squeezes his hand, returning the comedically bright smile.

“Damn,” Troy mutters, taking out his notebook with the reluctance of a child who was told no dessert before tea. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Troy, I notice everything.”

Abed says it so simply before focussing again on his notes, as though those four words didn’t hold such a heavy weight that it sends Troy’s mind reeling as he recalls every instance he’d caught himself staring at Abed in the last week alone. Just how many of those had Abed noticed? (He thinks he would run out of paper in his notebook if he tried to list every one of those moments.)

By the end of their study session, Troy doesn’t have much written past  _ The heart pumps blood around the body and _ , his page moreso filled with tiny drawings and sketches. He reads over the eight words and sighs, reaching to close the notebook when Abed silently places a copy of his notes in front of him. Warmth fills Troy’s body (the fact he wrote down about the heart pushing blood around his body prominent in his mind), and he squeezes Abed’s hand to grab his attention, mouthing “thank you”. 

The group packs away their study supplies, and everyone except Troy and Abed remain seated, arms placed on the table before them. The pair exchange a look with each other, before shrugging and telling Annie they’ll see her at home. A few calls of “good luck with being handcuffed” and “hope you find the key” follow them out of the study room. 

The instant the two are out of earshot, Annie flips to an empty page in her notebook, the other’s leaning in to see the page. She draws up a table, complete with colour coded names and a little doodle of a pair of handcuffs. “Alright, it’s only a matter of time ‘til they get sick of each other and beg to have the handcuffs removed, so place your bets.”

Annie bets 15 days (“I should know best. I live with them. It’s kind of weird, even for them, the amount of time they spend by each other’s sides.”), while Britta counters they won’t make it to 3 days (“Didn’t you see them bicker about who lost the key? There’s no way they’ll last more than two days. I should know. I’m majoring in Psych.”). Shirley reasons that this is Abed and Troy they’re talking about, and that 5 days is a logical amount for them. (“If it were anyone else, they would’ve already attacked the cuffs with scissors out of desperation.”)

Jeff doesn’t offer up his bet straight away. Instead, he waits until all the attention is on him before he pulls out his wallet, slapping a hundred dollar bill on the table. He allows them to take in the amount, to show he means business, before he simply says, “Three weeks.”

They talk over the top of each other, finding the idea that Jeff thinks they can last 21 days utterly absurd. He raises his hand, silencing them. “I would’ve said a month, but I’m being realistic. Think about it: we all know they’ve been skirting around their feelings for, some would argue, the entire time they’ve known each other. For most people, this type of situation would break a friendship, but not Troy and Abed. No,” he says, letting out a little laugh, “this is going to force them to confront their feelings—after a brief period of pretending everything is fine, of course—and I’m willing to bet an extra $100 that this is going to end with them getting together. Besides, Abed’s not one to willingly destroy a movie prop, as we observed earlier, and Troy’s practically a lovesick puppy, so those handcuffs aren’t coming off anytime soon.”

Jeff adds another $100 note to his pile, staring expectantly at the others as though waiting for an argument. He’s only met with disheartened expressions, obviously upset they didn’t think along those lines before placing their bet. 

Britta sheepishly adds a total of $23—scraped from her wallet, pockets, and handbag—which she subtracts after a moment of thought, replacing it with a note reading  _ IOU $23. _ She glances at the others, frowning at their stares of pity. “What? I need to buy groceries.”

—

Abed points out that, according to his calculations, of the four hours they’ve been handcuffed, approximately 94% of it has been spent with them holding hands. Troy just stares in wonder at Abed’s brain, and attempts to pretend he doesn’t wish it was 6% higher. 

Watching TV doesn’t provide any issues, albeit the chairs needing to be moved closer, which they’re both grateful for. They skip through the channels before settling on  _ Inspector Spacetime _ , watching several episodes (one of which ironically involves the Inspector and Reggie winding up fused together) before their hunger gets the better of them. 

Annie returns shortly after to find them awkwardly attempting to make pasta for tea, as per the Roommate Agreements they all signed when she moved in that states they must prepare at least one meal a week for them to enjoy as a family. She waves them out of the kitchen, telling them that until they sort out the predicament with the key, it’s probably best if she handles the meals. Troy and Abed nod in agreement, sheepishly ducking their heads as they take in the stray pieces of pasta seemingly flung across the bench and the sauce that managed to drip absolutely everywhere. 

“Hey guys? I think I’m going to have to start this from scratch.” Annie turns around, holding up the saucepan they’d forgotten about. 

“You can blame Abed for the sauce, Annie!” Troy says, trying to subtly shield himself with Abed’s body as best he can without straining their arms. 

“Don’t believe him,” Abed says, smiling when Annie responds with “Trust me, I wasn’t going to!” followed by Troy’s cry of indignation. 

“While I do this, you guys should, uh, try and work out how you’re going to shower,” Annie says, distractedly gesturing between them as she searches the cupboards. 

Troy glances down at the link between them. He attempts to remove one sleeve over the handcuff but huffs once he realises it’s impossible with Abed’s arm blocking it. “Why can’t you be, like, ant sized or something? It would be  _ so easy _ to fit you through the sleeve of my hoodie.”

“Ah, but if I were the size of an ant, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. Besides, I don’t think they make handcuffs designed with one end for humans and another for insects, or even handcuffs purely for ants. It’d be kind of impractical, and not to mention that there would be rare occasions it would come in handy. 

“I… am way too tired for this. Let’s figure it out tomorrow.”

“Okay. Speaking of figuring things out, how do you propose we get changed?”

Troy groans, not even bothering to look at their arms for inspiration. He’d spent his day ignoring it, figuring Abed would be smart enough to form some solution that doesn’t involve cutting his favourite hoodie off. He leans forward until his head is resting on Abed’s shoulder and grumbles, “Can’t we just live like cartoon characters who always wear the same outfit?”

“I mean, we could,” Abed starts, and Troy finds the closeness of Abed’s mouth to his ear oddly comforting, “but I think if we’re wearing the same clothes in a week’s time, people might start to complain.”

“A week’s time?” Troy bursts out, certain his eyes are about to pop out of his head. His exclamation causes them to miss Annie’s delighted giggle. (She’s secretly praying for her 15 days.) “How long do you expect us to stay like this?”

“I’m only being realistic, Troy. Preparing for the worst case scenario.”

Troy’s eyes bore into Abed. “Okay.” He pulls Abed back into the kitchen and retrieves a pair of scissors from the top drawer. “Does me cutting your shirt off factor into your worst case scenario?”

Abed doesn’t respond, no doubt running through simulations in his head that present a way to save his shirt. 

“Abed, it’s either the shirt or the handcuffs. If I’m going to be an extension of you—well, more of an extension, that is—for a week, or  _ longer, _ I would appreciate clean clothes.  _ And _ a clean body, before you try and weasel out of showering or something.”

He waits patiently for a moment, though concern starts to creep in when there’s still no response from Abed. Is Abed frozen in his own head, stuck on a loop as he’s unable to choose between two equally terrifying prospects? Troy briefly ponders just how grievous it would be if he cut his hand off just so Abed can keep both his shirt and the handcuffs intact, but he shakes his head upon realising how insane that is. (He shouldn’t do that because Abed would  _ still _ have to carry his hand around until they find the key. Oh, and he’d probably suffer from a bunch of blood loss or something.)

It’s been a minute since anyone last spoke, and Abed still hasn’t moved. Troy’s eerily reminded of last year’s Christmas. His fingers instinctively link with Abed’s, squeezing in a way that mimics the beating of a heart. (His heart.) It’s like it sends a jolt to Abed’s brain, because his eyes dart to look at their hands, his expression unreadable. He seems to come to a decision though, as he gives Troy one soft, but affirming squeeze back, and holds out his free hand. 

“Okay. Give me the scissors.”

Troy apprehensively hands them over, his eyes fixed on Abed’s face. “Are… Are you sure?”

Abed inhales deeply, as if trying to push back second thoughts, then promptly cuts the fabric of his sleeve and down the inner seam of the torso. He exhales heavily, dragging his eyes from his now-ruined shirt to the stunned eyes of Troy. “Well, too late to be unsure now, right?”

“Right…” Troy breathes out. He catches glimpses of skin as Abed fiddles absently with the fabric and he swallows hard, forcing himself to look at his own sleeve. He really wishes he hadn’t worn his fourth favourite hoodie. (Maybe this is how Abed felt when faced with this decision. He doesn’t like it.) “Can… Can you please cut my hoodie for me? I don’t think I have the strength to do it myself.”

“Of course,” Abed murmurs, reaching for the fabric, His fingers fleetingly brush against Troy’s hip, sending chills up his body, electrifying his nerves, causing his knees to involuntarily buckle. If Abed notices, he doesn’t draw attention to it. “Seeing as we kind of figured out what to do with our shirts, did you want to shower?”

Troy fervently shakes his head, fearing all that would come out would be nothing more than a squeak. Abed glances at him, so he clears his throat and forces himself to say, “Uh, no, man. I’m good for tonight.”

“Okay, cool. Cool cool cool.” Abed points at what used to be their shirts then in the direction of the blanket fort. “We should probably go work out what to sleep in and then get ready for whatever Annie’s making for dinner.”

Troy chances a look at the kitchen, surveying the assortment of food lining the bench and struggling to piece together what sort of meal could come from it. He grins at Abed and gestures to the side. “Lead the way.”

—

As if changing clothes wasn’t bad enough (and it was. It really was. Troy never again wants to step into his shirt and experience the feeling of it stuffed uncomfortably under his armpit), their sleeping situation quickly became an issue. Being handcuffed to another person means sleeping on the top bunk was no longer a viable option for Troy for an indeterminate amount of time. 

Pout present on his face, Troy kicks the bed. (Gently, of course. He liked to think he’d learnt his lesson last time when he’d almost broken a toe and was stuck laying around for the day. Although, when he thinks about it, he didn’t mind  _ all that much _ when it turned into Abed assuming the role of a nurse from whichever hospital show he’d been studying in order to understand Annie’s desire to go into the medical field.)

He starts muttering to himself, complaining that it was Abed’s “stupid idea to buy these stupid handcuffs and trust me with the stupid key”, walking forwards and backwards the mere metre the handcuffs allow, growing ever increasingly impatient, because he’s lost the ability to wear clothes properly, can’t sleep on his own mattress, and now he can’t pace properly? What has the world come to?

Troy glares at the handcuffs before staring longingly at his top bunk. He thinks that if he were on a sitcom, he’d be whispering “so long, old friend” as the camera tracks a solitary tear slipping down his cheek, the music swelling in that comically sad way. But then it clicks, a grin returning when he realises that  _ hey, being on the left side of Abed has it’s perks after all! _

“Oh no, Abed,” he says, adopting a faux frown as he turns to face his best friend, entirely aware that his pretence of sadness is absolutely see-through. “One of us is going to have to sleep on the floor, and oh no, would you look at that? The bunk bed is pressed against the wall and the pillow’s up this end, which I  _ guess _ means that I’ll have to be the one in the bed… Sucks to be you, I guess.”

“We could always move the pillow up the other end,” Abed points out. 

“Oh, you’re right. We could–” Troy cuts himself off as he launches onto Abed’s mattress, tugging an unexpecting Abed behind, who lands mishappenly on his lap. In the scurrying of Abed’s feet, he kicks discarded items of clothing under the bunk bed. 

“Can I at least use your blanket and pillow for the floor?” Abed sighs, pushing himself up. His hands are pressed firmly on Troy’s chest, keeping himself steady with his face less than half a metre from his. The breath on Troy’s face is hot and sets his mind in a haze. 

Feeling almost sedated, Troy nods. He prays the thumping of his racing heart he feels in his ears isn’t audible in the quiet of the room. Abed pushes himself off the bed as Troy sits up, the sudden chill on his chest clearing his mind just enough for him to wonder whether that was a tactical maneuver to lower Troy’s guard so he could steal his bed back. Troy may be stupid, but he’s not  _ that _ stupid. (The loss of thought he experiences when Abed’s shirt rises to reveal his toned stomach begs to differ.)

Luckily for Troy, Abed draws his attention to the floor, requiring his assistance to assemble a makeshift bed. It distracts him enough that by the time he’s settled under the doona, his skin no longer feels electrified by the mere memory of Abed’s hip. 

“Goodnight, Abed,” he sings out once Abed has stopped fidgeting, closing his eyes as he eagerly awaits dreamland. He hopes he can continue his dream from last night where he and Abed were fighting robot sharks on top of a volcano, because that was so  _ cool! _

It takes him roughly seven seconds to realise he’s never going to sleep with his arm sticking out from the bed the way it is, and a further forty seconds to admit it out loud. Abed hums his agreement, then just stares at Troy, leaving the next move entirely up to him. 

Troy’s fingers find Abed’s, and he wordlessly tugs on them, a silent  _ you can sleep here with me _ (with an even quieter  _ I want you next to me… always _ hiding just behind that). Whether Abed understands the deeper meaning behind the simple gesture, Troy is unsure, but when Abed sinks into the mattress, their limbs touching, faces centimetres from each other, that look in Abed’s eye like he knows every thought running through your brain… it’s hard to believe he doesn’t. 

And God, does Troy wish Abed wanted the same thing as him, wanted  _ him _ the same way. 

He’s never had an issue being in close proximity to Abed; in fact, he’s revelled in it, the heat, the comfort, the intimacy. But sharing the suddenly tiny single mattress, Troy knows the unforeseen amount of time he’ll be linked to his best friend, the man he’s recently realised the intensity of his feelings for, is probably going to be detrimental to his sanity. 

_ This is going to be quite the experience, _ he muses, watching the breath evenly leave those lips, his eyelashes ever so gently brushing his cheeks, wanting nothing, absolutely nothing more, than to lean in. 

Quite the experience indeed. 

—

When Troy wakes a few hours later with a dry throat and a dull ache that’s somewhere he can’t quite pinpoint, he can’t say that opening his eyes to find Abed staring intently at his face is what he was expecting to see. But he’d be lying if he said he couldn’t get used to it. 

“Hi Abed,” he says after a minute, when he’s certain that Abed’s not sleeping with his eyes open again. (He’d hate for it to be like that time he was replicating some B-grade army movie they watched years ago. Troy certainly didn’t appreciate it, even after he realised Abed hadn’t actually died in his sleep like he had thought at first.) His voice is gravelly, and he may be in desperate need of a glass of water, but that would involve breaking the soft lull that surrounds them. He wants to live in it just a moment longer. 

“Hi Troy.” Abed’s voice is just as gentle, with a hint of raspiness, and his stare still just as intent. Inklings of self-consciousness trickle into Troy’s mind. What exactly is Abed staring at? Did Troy drool in his sleep again? Is there something on his face? Is he  _ bleeding? _

His fingers dash towards his face to check, but the weight of Abed’s limb forces the handcuff to dig into the soft flesh of his wrist. Wincing, he pulls his wrist close to his face, taking note of the raw indentations. His eyes dart to Abed’s face, scanning for signs of discomfort or hurt. There’s glimmers of it, just in the eyes, so he looks at Abed’s wrist. His heart plummets when he finds Abed’s is worse off, the imprints a little deeper, the red more prominent. 

With his free hand, Troy holds Abed’s wrist tenderly in his, his digits massaging with the most gentle and lightest motions he can. His eyes find Abed’s, searching for hints he should stop, but there’s no recognisable signs present; just a peculiar look he can’t quite decipher. 

He tries (and fails) to ignore the familiar warmth in his chest, the one that constantly lingers where his heart is, hating the piece of him that revels in the feeling of Abed’s skin against his fingertips. 

“Abed…” Troy broaches cautiously, voice but a whisper given the peaceful hour, his fingers still moving with a gentle back and forth. “I hope you realise I don’t care about how much money we spent on these handcuffs. I don’t…” He trails off, not of his own accord, but because what he really wants to say feels way too intimate. But he pushes himself to put it in simple, easier terms, because it’s something that is constantly at the forefront of his mind, and it  _ is _ important. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Abed glancing from the handcuffs to Troy’s face, eyes lingering there just long enough to evidently decide something, before he simply says, “I don’t want to damage the handcuffs,” his mouth closing in the way Troy’s come to learn means Abed won’t elaborate further. What Troy wouldn’t give to be able to glimpse inside that mind of his. 

“Okay,” Troy responds, understanding (but not really). “Let’s get some sleep now.”

Abed nods, eyes closing as he settles into the blanket further, a soft smile on his face as Troy alternates the soothing movements on his wrist. The warmth in Troy’s heart grows exponentially, and before he can think better of it, he’s raising Abed’s wrist to his lips and placing a delicate kiss where the metal had previously taken residence. 

He falters upon pulling back, the action finally catching up with his brain and freezing him in place, Abed’s wrist mere centimetres from his lips. His head tilts up apprehensively to find curious eyes meeting his, Abed’s mouth agape with his head cocked slightly to the side. 

“I, uh… Goodnight, Abed.” Troy drops Abed’s hand like it burned him, rolling onto his back to stare intently at the bunk above them, trying to focus on anything that’s not the eyes he can feel drilling into the side of his head. He’s certain his heartbeat can be heard throughout the apartment, probably the entire world even, a deafening  _ thud, thud, thud _ rising in tempo and sound and panic, and why isn’t Abed saying anything? Are his words being drowned out by Troy’s heartbeat?

Troy starts when Abed gently grasps his right wrist, shifting the handcuff as he delicately rubs the tender skin. How long had he been staring above him, lost in his own head? Perhaps this is how Abed felt, Troy distantly wonders, when he kissed his wrist—stunned, unable to speak, blink or even swallow. (It’s bizarrely reminiscent of that time he met LeVar Burton.) This isn’t healthy, is it? If Troy wasn’t currently incapacitated by his emotions and thoughts, he’d ask Abed. 

Troy’s eyes remained fixed on Abed, who in turn keeps his eyes fixed on Troy’s wrist. This seems like one of those times that would wind up remaining unspoken between them (like that one time they were in the Dreamatorium and had to kiss to keep their cover from being blown in the  _ Inspector Spacetime _ simulation Abed had created. Abed later assured him that the kiss  _ had _ to happen given the narrative arc of the plot. Troy had nodded in faux understanding, pretending like the kiss hadn’t stunned him out of any and all coherent thoughts past  _ Abed kissed me holy shit Abed kissed me Abed kissed ME holyshitholyshitholyshit. _ (The kiss replays in Troy’s mind more often than he’d like to admit… way more often.)).

He forces the tension to release it’s grip on his body and relaxes further into the cocoon of the blanket. That’s how Troy falls asleep: his wrist cradled in the sweet embrace of his best friend’s hand, the pressure of the fingers light across his skin, the body heat between them warming him to the tips of his toes. 

—

Troy stirs a few minutes before their alarm is set to wake them from their slumber—and by alarm, it’s really just Annie. He rubs the sleep from his eyes before turning to face the sleeping boy beside him, the movement causing the arm across his stomach to shift slightly, alerting Troy to it’s presence. Warmth radiates from where the arm rests against the bare skin of his stomach, his shirt having ridden up sometime during the night. The blanket lies in a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed, covering just the ends of their feet. 

His eyes dart up, fearing his momentary shock might’ve woken Abed up, but he’s greeted with Abed’s still sleeping face. He settles back against the pillow and allows himself to admire the delicate features inches from his. Soft puffs of air escape his parted lips, his hair rests gently against his forehead, ruffled slightly from sleep.

It’s not often that Troy wakes before Abed, and so he always feels blessed whenever he gets to see the softness that sleep allows before it’s replaced by his controlled expressions. He wonders if he’s the only one who’s ever experienced this. (A part of him wishes to be the only one who gets to.)

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement, the blankets fluttering as Annie pops her head through. Troy shoos her away, hoping to convey with hand gestures and mouthing that he’ll wake Abed up. 

Annie takes in the scene laid before her: the boys curled up on the tiny mattress, the makeshift bedding forgotten on the floor, before her eyes zero in on the arm draped across Troy’s stomach. Her eyes widen in that shocked Annie type of way, before she flashes him a knowing grin and swiftly exits the blanket fort. 

A blush rises to Troy’s cheeks and he sinks further into the pillow, trying to ignore how comforting he finds the secure weight of Abed’s arm. He attempts to distract himself by running his fingers along the length of Abed’s forearm and back again, interlocking the fingers of their free hands and squeezing gently. 

“Abed,” he whispers, rubbing both of his thumbs along the soft skin of Abed’s hands. “Time to wake up, buddy.”

Abed scrunches his face and blinks multiple times to wake himself up further. “Good morning, Troy,” he says through a yawn, attempting to stretch his limbs, but he freezes when he realises both his hands are linked with Troy’s. His eyes glance around the room, taking in the position they’re in and the state of the bedding, and instead chooses to ask, “What time is it?”

“Annie came in a minute ago,” Troy explains. “I told her I’d wake you up.”

Abed tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “How come?”

“Oh, you know, no reason. Thought you might appreciate an extra minute of sleep, considering it didn’t seem like you slept that much last night.” Troy clears his throat, tempted to change the topic but then, because he’s dying to know, he asks, “Have you always been clingy in your sleep?”

“Is this why my arm’s across your stomach?”

(Neither of them point out that neither has made any attempt to break apart.)

Troy nods, jutting his chin in the direction of his torso. “When I woke up, we were lying like this—except for our hands. I held your hand so I could wake you up. I don’t know why I did that, though…”

“It’s okay. I like holding your hand,” Abed assures with a squeeze. “And as for being clingy, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve slept beside someone before, so I can only assume it’s because you make me feel safe.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, of course you do.”

A hush falls over them, and the close proximity is stifling, but in a good way, and maybe Troy’s still sleepy and that’s why his head is clouded the way it is. Because all that’s swimming through his mind is how he desperately wants to kiss Abed, because there’s this look in Abed’s intense stare that Troy recognises only from intimate moments they’ve shared before. Which only makes the moment all the more confusing when Troy blurts out, “I really gotta pee.”

“I– Yeah, me too.” And then Abed’s rolling over and sitting up, breaking whatever they might’ve just shared if Troy had blurted out any other sentence. 

—

Dozens of stares and pointed laughs greet them when they arrive on campus and Troy instinctively pulls his jacket tighter around him. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to wear their jackets half-wrapped around them over a singlet, with one side tucked under their armpit. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to lose the only key to their handcuffs. 

Troy ducks his head lower, embarrassment weighing down on him as he prays on the chill in the air being enough to cool the warmth in his cheeks. Abed squeezes his hand, sensing his nerves, and offers a warm smile before guiding him towards his film class. 

It was mostly uneventful, with the exceptions of the only seat available for Troy being on Abed’s lap (with Troy offering to switch places but Abed had insisted it was fine, before gesturing for Troy to spin on the spot then take a seat so he would be comfortable. Troy definitely didn’t spend the next hour devising plans on how he can always be securely wrapped up in Abed’s warmth like this) and the teacher enquiring about the situation with the handcuffs, to which Abed explained it was all going to be revealed in his next movie. (Troy had then panickedly whispered to Abed on whether he’d lost the key on purpose in order to fulfil whatever movie he had plotted out. Abed assured him he wouldn’t do that Troy. The other members of the study group, maybe, but never Troy.)

Joining up with the study group for lunch, however, was a different story. After recounting their story to the curious people waiting in line, they awkwardly carry their trays to the table, taking their place beside Shirley. Jeff glances up before focussing again on his phone. “Geez, you guys are really gonna stick with this, huh?”

“Of course we are,” Abed responds, popping a chip into his mouth. 

“Lay off them, Jeff,” Annie protests, slapping his arm, before smiling warmly at the linked pair. “I like their commitment to this. It’s sweet.” 

“Really?” Jeff arches an eyebrow. “You think it’s sweet they have to pee and shower together?”

“Ew! No, Jeff, I meant their commitment is sweet. Besides, they haven’t even showered yet.”

Shirley attempts to subtly scoot a little closer to the edge of the seat, which doesn’t go amiss to Troy. “Hey! We showered yesterday morning, okay? We’re clean.”

“Together?” Britta asks, her eyebrow raising suggestively. 

“What? No.” Troy flushes and stares adamantly at the table, suddenly acutely aware of how the entire side of his body is pressed flush against Abed. Abed gives his hand a light squeeze, to which Troy softly smiles in return. 

The familiar crackle of the P.A. filters through, the Dean’s voice prominent throughout the cafeteria. “Attention everyone, this is your Dean speaking.” There’s a momentary pause before his voice kicks up a notch (or five). “And this is your Dean shouting!” He chuckles. “Just kidding. Well, not kidding, because this actually  _ is _ your Dean, but anyway… The reason for the announcement is if you do happen to see a snake roaming around campus, just know I have notified Animal Control. I’m just not too sure how long it’ll be before they can respond.”

Jeff exchanges bewildered looks with the group, mildly concerned about the prospect of a snake being free on campus, but mostly perplexed at how Greendale continues to surprise him. Annie lifts her legs from the ground, trying (and failing) to inconspicuously glance around the floor of the cafeteria. She relaxes briefly before a bag falling from a nearby seat prompts her to scramble to safety atop the table, sending multiple trays flying in the process. 

Craig continues, “I believe they got wind of how I wasn’t able to pay the guards for knocking out the monkey living in the vents with monkey gas. So, yeah, if you come across the snake, try to keep a safe distance and I guess, uh, let fellow students around you know. Common courtesy and all. Oh, and if I could please see Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir in my office, that would be great. Have a good afternoon, blessed stu _dean_ ts.” 

Eyes flock to them even before they rise. They’ve been the talk of the school since word of their situation spread like wildfire, which generally Troy enjoyed (it reminded him of his glory days at high school), but majority of the snide comments he managed to catch were about how Abed is usually weird but that this (this being dragging former prom king and quarterback into his weird little misadventures) was just a whole new level. Heat rapidly rises in him, tingling his fingertips as the anger threatens to bubble to the surface. He’s pretty sure he would’ve lashed out at somebody if it weren’t for the familiar squeeze of his hand pulling him back, those soft eyes warning him that it’s not worth it. Sometimes it eludes him the extent of how connected they are. 

Troy nods minutely at him, the anger dissipating into a cool, collected calm. (It still amazes him to this day the effect Abed has on him.) Abed gives the group a wave before tugging Troy along. He distantly thinks that he would follow Abed anywhere and everywhere. 

More less-than-subtle remarks trail them as they walk the halls, and the frustration threatens to overwhelm him, especially when he glances over and sees Abed’s face, expressionless except for a subtle shine in his eyes. Do they not realise that every word they’re uttering is audible? Or maybe, Troy realises with horror, they  _ want _ their comments to be heard, because they secretly revel in hurting others. 

Troy doesn’t quite know which is worse: the way people seem to think Abed’s some weird kind of alien and that they can therefore talk about him in any way they want, or the way Abed resigns himself to silently enduring every condescending jab. Or maybe it’s that, try as he may, Troy can’t protect him from the weight of more than twenty years of insults, taunts and abuse. He tries not to linger on it, because the ache in his chest overflows with guilt whenever he thinks back on how there was a time he was busy trying to be popular when Abed needed a friend; a protector. 

He knows Abed would insist that “it’s okay” and “I’m used to it” if Troy asked, so he instead opts for readjusting their interlocked fingers and providing a soothing rub of his thumb along the curve of Abed’s hand. It’s a simple gesture, but it breaks Abed from whatever train of thought was holding him captive. He looks down at their entwined hands, as if to visually confirm what freed him, before he glances at Troy, a soft smile on his face. It may have only been a second of eye contact, but it was enough to make Troy’s heart swell. 

They come to a stop in front of the Dean’s office and knock on the open door, peering inside. The Dean glances up from his paperwork before rising from his seat to greet them. 

“Please, take a seat, boys,” Craig says, guiding them to the seats (which he may have already shifted closer in preparation) before he closes the door, allowing them some privacy. He takes his seat and places his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands. “So…”

Abed raises his eyebrows, sharing a look with Troy, who just stares at the Dean with curiosity. 

“Oh, I’ll start then, shall I? Okay, well I’ve called you in here because I’d heard some rumours, which I can now see are true,” he says, gesturing to the handcuffs, “and also that there have been some concerns from Abed’s film class instructor. He was curious about Troy’s presence in his class, seeing as you aren’t nor have you ever been a film student, but that’s besides the point. He was moreso intrigued about whatever the situation with the handcuffs is. Is this a statement? Some kind of protest? And if so, did Britta drag you into doing it? Should I be alerting the local news or the journalists of the Gazette?”

Abed shakes his head. “No, it’s not a protest or anything like that. We ordered these prop handcuffs from the first Batman movie, which we actually got for a reasonable price, all things considered.”

“We wanted to try them out,” Troy explains further, giving Abed’s hand an unconscious squeeze. “Test them for authenticity, strength, the usual kinds of things. So we put them on, and I may have lost the only key we have, so now we’re stuck.”

“And before you suggest it,” Abed cuts in, “no, we are not interested in cutting them off. These are the real deal.”

Troy nods solemnly. “Yeah, plus they cost, like, two months rent.”

“Oh, I understand completely!” Craig leans forward, holding a hand to his chest. “I’m assuming from your attire,” he gestures at their bare arms, “that this is the first time either of you have been stuck in handcuffs?”

They both nod, and Troy can feel the tips of his ears burning, though he’s unsure why. 

“Well, you clearly could’ve come to me! The amount of times I’ve wound up stuck in handcuffs because I’ve misplaced the key… Way too many to keep count.” He chuckles, sighing happily as he undoubtedly recalls one of those times. “Ah, anyway, enough about me! I have a neat little trick for taking off and putting on a t-shirt with ease that I’d be happy to share with you.”

The Dean holds up a finger, telling them to give him a moment as he retrieves a pair of handcuffs from the top drawer to his left. (He ultimately misses the exchange of part-questioning, part-scared looks between Troy and Abed, Troy leaning in close to whisper “What? Why on earth does he have those here?” with Abed responding with a shrug and a simple “I wouldn’t question it.”) One end of the handcuffs is placed on his wrist with practiced ease and the other end to his chair for emphasis. He raises his hand to demonstrate he is securely linked to the chair. 

“Okay, so what you do is remove your free arm from the shirt, like so, and then lift it over your head. You’re then left with your handcuffed arm still wearing the shirt. What you do next is feed the material of the shirt  _ under _ the handcuff, granted the material is thin enough, and viola! You’re shirtless!” He holds up the shirt in triumph, pointedly ignoring the disturbed faces staring back at him. “Oh, and you just do the opposite to put a shirt on. Put your handcuffed hand through the sleeve you’re trying to put on, and then feed the material through the handcuff and you can then put the shirt on properly. Easy peasy.”

After the initial shock of seeing their Dean shirtless (which they should realistically be used to by now), Troy stares down at the handcuffs in wonder, ready to race home and try out the trick. Abed offers a simple appreciation for the advice, to which Troy nods enthusiastically in agreement and says, “Yeah, we’re gonna go test that now!”

Craig waves them off in an amiable manner, swiftly redressing himself. “No problem, boys! Let me know if you run into any other issues. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.” They rise from their seats and head for the door as Craig rifles through his desk drawer, his movements becoming more and more frenzied. “Uh, you boys didn’t see me put a key anywhere, did you?”

Stopping at the edge of the room, they shake their heads before glancing at each other, silently debating whether to help him search. 

“Right… Well, I guess I’ll be moving about on wheels today.” Craig pushes himself around the desk and moves towards them in short bursts. “If you could be so kind as to hold the door open for me.”

Troy opens the door and steps back, with Abed gesturing in an “after you” manner. They follow Craig out into the hall, and Troy gives him an awkward pat on his shoulder. “Thanks, for the tips and stuff, Dean. And, uh, good luck with your situation.”

“Aw thanks, Troy! Same to you boys! Now, to roll on out.”

Abed draws the door shut behind him and turns towards Troy. “Did you wanna head home?”

“Yeah!” Troy pulls Abed down the hall, towards his locker so he can retrieve his backpack. “I can’t wait to try out the trick the Dean showed us. It looked simple enough.”

—

You’d think that being attached to someone for more than 24 hours would have given Troy time to mentally prepare for their shower situation, but you’d be dead wrong. It didn’t quite hit him until they stepped through the front door and Abed mentioned they should grab a stool to sit on while the other showers. He’d otherwise been preoccupied with wanting to try out the handcuff trick. 

He freezes on the spot, jerking Abed to a sudden stop. A mild panic starts to rise as the situation dawns on him. Abed turns to face him, eyes curious as his mouth opens with an unspoken question. 

“I’m alright,” Troy assures him. “Uh, just give me a minute.” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room before removing the jacket sleeve from his left arm. “We should probably find a shirt to, you know, use, right?”

Abed nods and follows him into the blanket fort, placing their jackets on the top bunk. He runs his fingers over the shirts before coming to a stop at a yellow long-sleeve shirt, plucking it out and handing it to Troy. “You should wear this one,” Abed says, glancing from the shirt in Troy’s hand to gaze wordlessly at his face for a moment. He licks his lips, a quick swipe, before the next sentence leaves in a whisper, “Yellow looks really good on you.”

There’s a subtle intensity to Abed’s expression that stops any words from coming forth from Troy (not that he’d even be capable of forming any at this point in time). It’s as though the both of them are disconnected from the rest of the world with a hush falling over them, and Troy swears time has slowed down, if only to taunt him with whatever is currently occurring between the two of them. He can’t even begin to understand the energy flowing through them, through the both of them. 

He’s too stunned to utter anything more than a “thanks”, repeatedly licking his lips and gulping to get rid of that lump in his throat that never seems to go away in these visceral situations. He can’t avert his eyes from Abed’s face. There’s something drawing Troy in, begging him to close the gap between them and… is he actually stepping closer? He can feel his feet moving, the carpeted flooring malleable under his steps. 

Abed seemingly scans over his face, as if taking note of his reaction before nodding to himself and spinning to pick a shirt for himself. Troy stares at his back in a stupor, struggling to process what had just occurred in a matter of only twenty seconds. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, desperate for an explanation, but then Abed’s leading him out of the blanket fort before he can form a coherent thought. Abed grabs a stool and then suddenly they’re in the bathroom. 

And it’s quiet, it’s so quiet, and has Troy’s breathing always been this loud?

Abed breaks the silence by asking whether Troy wants to shower first, and Troy responds by taking a seat on the stool, gesturing for Abed to go first. Abed nods, and starts to strip before stepping over the edge of the bath and drawing the shower curtain behind him. The shower starts and Troy feels like he can relax, just a little. That is, until he realises the link of the arms does little to actually obstruct his view.

It’s everything Troy can do to ignore how the glimpses of Abed’s skin makes him feel. (Fire. It’s like he’s on fire. Not in an  _ oh God I’m dying _ way, but more of an  _ everything is too warm all at once _ kind of way—not that there’s much difference between the two. Perhaps it’s the close proximity they’ve spent the last thirty hours in (and oh God, how is he going to last much longer?) that’s heightened every nerve in his being.) He digs his nails into the palm of his hand, hoping to distract himself before his thoughts take a route he’d struggle to come back from. 

He forces himself to count the cracks in the tiles on the opposite wall, and makes it to 23 before he feels water trickling down his fingers, Abed’s hand bumping into his. “Sorry,” he says when he catches Troy’s eye. “Just need to clean my arm.”

“It’s fine, dude.” 

A moment later and the water shuts off. Each droplet on the porcelain feels like a thud as the quiet weighs down on them. Abed pokes his head from behind the curtain, swiping the dripping water from his face. “Can you grab my towel?”

Troy mouths a “sure”, reaching across to the rail, careful not to slip from his seat or accidentally tug on the cuffs. He hands the towel to Abed and begins to remove his clothing, and they awkwardly switch places.

Troy takes a moment to breathe, trying to ease the air into his lungs before he turns on the shower. The water flows steadily over his shoulders, and slowly but surely, he can feel the tension begin to dissipate. The water feels glorious after the day they’ve had and he wants nothing more than to remain under the heavy heat for hours. Until he remembers Abed is sitting there patiently on the other side of the curtain. He dips his head beneath the stream, before washing his body as swiftly as he can. 

Abed’s sitting there shirtless when Troy draws back the curtain to ask for a towel. 

“I thought you would’ve already tried putting it on,” Troy comments, trying his best to keep his voice steady and casual as he runs the towel over his body. 

“I grabbed one of yours by mistake,” Abed explains simply, holding it up as evidence. 

Troy gulps, his eyes having a mind of their own as they wander over Abed’s chest. He hurriedly says, “That’s fine, man. You can wear it,” before stepping over the edge of the bathtub, busying himself with locating his clothes. He slips on his pants and then runs his thumb along the fabric of the shirt as he struggles to remember how to do the trick.

Abed’s fingers brush against his as he takes the shirt from him. He feeds the material through the metal of the handcuffs, whispering, “I got it,” when Troy then reaches for the shirt, instead easing it over his head for him. 

When Troy’s arms are through the sleeves, he looks down in amazement before grinning at Abed. “That’s so cool!”

“Yeah.”

Troy reaches for the shirt Abed had accidentally picked for himself and returns the gesture. Tugging the shirt down his torso, his hands unwittingly linger over Abed’s hips, close enough for Troy to feel the heat radiating from him. “You’re always so warm,” he notes, moreso to himself than to Abed. He draws back when he comes to his senses, choosing to stare at the floor as he asks, “Are you hungry?”

“A bit,” Abed admits. “We didn’t really get the chance to eat earlier in the cafeteria.”

Troy nods. “Same here.”

Abed links their fingers, practically a habit at this point, picking up the stool with his free hand and leading them from the bathroom. 

“Think we’d be right to make buttered noodles without destroying the kitchen?” Troy asks, grinning over at Abed. 

He returns the smile, his voice light as he responds, “I think we could manage that.”

Troy lets him take the lead, because try as he may, he’s never mastered the art of buttered noodles, not in the way Abed has. He watches the bowl spin round and round behind the tinted glass of the microwave and his mind wanders. Replaying through his mind are all the moments, particularly during the last couple days, in which Troy’s found himself caught up in the little bubble of  _ Troy and Abed, _ and how they were evidently drenched with tension. And he’s curious, oh, so curious on why Abed has never commented on it, especially when it always ends with Troy pulling away and changing the subject. 

Surely it must play on his mind, like the way it does to Troy. It’s always too much for his brain to process, though. All the thoughts and emotions running rampant in his mind, and he’s never quick enough to catch and study them. (It frustrates him to no end.)

The microwave beeps and draws his attention back to the present, and he finds that his lips are pursed in a question (and Troy has a feeling he was about to bring up where his mind had wandered to) but then Abed’s handing him a bowl and pulling him along to watch  _ Inspector Spacetime. _

—

The next few days fall into a similar pattern: wake up entwined in each other and shower as best they can, eat cereal, sit in on each other’s classes, ignore the few stares they still receive from teachers and students alike, catch up with the study group, go home and watch  _ Inspector Spacetime, _ enjoy the lovely meal Annie prepares. 

There’s a few things they manage to perfect with ease, like putting on t-shirts under the handcuffs, maneuvering around rooms in a way that doesn’t involve one of them bumping into doorways or benches, being more in sync with their steps so the metal doesn’t dig into their skin. (Constantly holding hands helps.)

On the fifth day is when Abed suggests it. Having been dragged from the bed, Troy rubs the sleep from his eyes, half-listening to Abed’s rambling about their events for the day. He situates himself on the edge of the bathtub, averting his eyes as Abed starts to undress. 

“It would sure save time.”

“What would?” Troy yawns, reaching over to start the shower.

“If we showered together.” 

Troy darts his head around, and he would be concerned about the danger of whiplash if it weren’t for his body shifting with the force of the movement and sending him toppling into the bathtub. Thankfully, he narrowly avoided tugging Abed in after him. Cold droplets of water trickle over his face as he stares up at Abed with comically wide eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Troy pushes himself into a seated position in the tub and allows the water to drop onto his head in an attempt to cool his rapidly heating cheeks. “I was still just half-asleep when you suggested we, uh, we…” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “When you suggested we shower together.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to. I was just weighing the pros and cons.”

Troy shakes his head. “Nah, man. It’s okay. Just took me by surprise, is all.” He holds a hand out, allowing for Abed to pull him up. “I’m cool to shower with you.”

He starts to strip, ignoring the way his fingers shake just so, while Abed adjusts the temperature of the water. He steps in after Abed, resolutely keeping his eyes trained on the tiling. They take turns letting the water flow over their bodies, and they both find it immensely easier to shower when one arm isn’t constantly outstretched.

When Abed holds up the bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, Troy nods and holds out his hand, but instead, Abed squeezes some into the palm of his free hand and starts working it through Troy’s hair. His nimble fingers ease over his scalp, massaging gently with a firm press. He notes the way Troy’s eyes close to their own accord and nuzzles into the touch, contentment washing over his face. (And if Abed massages Troy’s hair later in bed in what he tells him is purely an attempt to help him sleep, well that’s just his little secret.) 

Troy returns the favour, his touch significantly more delicate, as though afraid pressing too firmly will startle Abed. He notes the way Abed’s hair is a touch longer than he usually keeps it, and he tries to ignore how much he wishes it were longer, just to card his fingers through when they’re laying in bed, cuddled up. 

“You guys weren’t in the bathroom that long,” Annie comments when they emerge from the bathroom, measuring out a cup of sugar before she freezes, looking up in horror. “Oh no, did I accidentally use most of the hot water? I usually set a timer when I shower… I haven’t even begun cooking breakfast yet.”

“No no, there was plenty of hot water, don’t worry.” Abed waves a hand to cease her rambling, taking a seat at the bench. Troy follows suit and fiddles with one of the unused measuring cups. “Troy and I showered together.”

Annie’s grip on the bag of flour tightens, sending puffs into the air. She averts her eyes, her voice raising in pitch as she says, “Oh? I mean, given how close you two are, I would’ve assumed you guys shower together already, anway.” 

“No no, it’s not like that,” Troy rushes out, voice high as he waves the hand holding the measuring cup about in panic. He clears his throat and risks a glance to his right, guilt weighing on him upon seeing Abed’s downcast stare. “I mean, it just saves time, and the water bill too, so it’s a win-win. Plus, there’s less of a strain on our arms, so that’s nice.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” Annie sifts the flour into the bowl, humming  _ Dancing Queen. _ There’s a familiar ache forming in Troy’s chest when he recognises the melody, though he’s distracted by Annie’s next words. “Oh! Jeff stopped by while you guys were in the shower and dropped off something for you. He left it on your bed.”

“Aren’t we seeing him later?” Troy asks, brows furrowing as he pulls Abed along into the blanket fort, mind turning in curiosity once he spies the plain plastic bag near the edge of the top bunk. 

“Yeah,” Annie calls out to them. “He said he felt sorry for you guys and wanted to apologise with whatever it is he got you.”

“That’s never a good sign, Jeff wanting to apologise. I wonder if he’s up to something,” Abed muses. 

Troy nods distractedly, reaching into the bag and drawing free a massive, red hoodie. He looks at Abed in confusion. Abed pulls one end away, holding it up against his chest, and Troy does the same. It’s a moment before Troy’s eagerly lifting the material up and easing it over both their heads, their free arms sliding into a sleeve each. Together, their heads peek out of the same hole. It reminds him of those shirts parents force their kids to wear after they’ve been fighting. 

“Yo, this is so cool!” He stares down in wonder, marvelling at how material surrounds them with warmth. He turns his head to look at Abed, but their faces brush together due to the close distance, and so he pulls back slightly, uttering an apology.

“It’s okay,” Abed whispers, bumping their shoulders together. He stretches his right arm, admiring the length of the sleeve and how it covers his knuckles. Troy’s hand can’t be seen, so he reaches over and helps roll the sleeve up, his fingers brushing over the back of his hand. “We should show Annie.”

Troy nods rapidly and pulls them from the blanket fort, beaming when he says, “Hey, Annie! Look!”

Annie, standing in front of the stove with a spatula in hand, glances back, a look of awe on her face. “Oh my God, that’s awesome, you guys! Now you look like you’ve actually been fused together, like that episode of your Inspector show.”

Troy gasps. “Exactly! I just hope we don’t get captured by Blorgons like they did, using their technology to separate us.”

“I don’t know about you, Troy,” Abed whispers, “but it would take more than Blorgons to separate us.”

He squeezes their fingers, hidden beneath the hoodie, and something in Troy’s chest mimics it. 

—

The stares of people on campus had mostly dissipated over the last couple days, but when Troy and Abed turned up to Greendale with their hoodie that was admittedly more vibrant than they’d originally thought, several heads had turned in their direction, and Troy could tell from their animated faces they were going to be the talk of the school yet again. 

Their morning classes drag on, and do nothing except prove Troy correct, and he’s never been more thankful to step over the threshold of the study room, the familiarity of the space calming him. Jeff trails in behind them, stopping before he reaches the table when the vivid colour of the fabric draws his gaze from his phone. “Oh, wow boys! You’ve really outdone yourselves with your fashion sense!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Troy waves him off, dismissing his phony compliment. “We know you’re up to something but we don’t really care, because it’s actually really cosy.”

“I’ll bet,” Jeff says, before the distinct  _ click  _ of a photo being taken comes from his direction. He grins at the screen before angling it towards Britta, her smile matching his. 

Without warning, Troy and Abed encase Jeff in a hug, and while he’s stunned, they slip the material of the hoodie over his head. He has to crouch slightly in order to keep his shoulders from emerging through the neck hole, and even then it’s a tight fit. They spin him so he’s facing the same direction as them, with Britta capturing the whole thing on video. Shirley lets out a delighted giggle at the scene unfolding before her, with Annie saying “aww” from her place at the table. 

Jeff frees himself from the confines of the hoodie, stumbling a little as he adjusts to his proper height, mumbling that it actually  _ is _ quite cosy. Rather than remove the hoodie, Abed drags his chair next to Troy’s, and they sit in close quarters with Britta. Everyone pulls out their study books, opening them and attempting to study, though they quickly forgo it and instead chat animatedly amongst each other. 

Britta swivels in her seat, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in the palm of her hand, directing her attention to the boys sitting next to her. “So how are you guys coping with the handcuffs?”

“We’re pretty used to it now,” Troy shrugs, idly drawing in the margin of his notebook, before turning to Abed. “Right?” he clarifies, to which Abed nods. 

Britta prompts them further, her voice light but full of intent. “But surely you miss your freedom, right? I know I would. I mean, it has been five days.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess, but I really love spending time with Abed, so it doesn’t bother me.” Troy vaguely wonders whether the lovestruck tone in his voice is as audible to everyone as it is to him.

“Plus we still haven’t found the key, so we’re stuck,” Abed interjects, sounding not at all phased by the prospect of remaining attached to Troy. A smile creeps it’s way to Troy’s face and he leans closer to the page in front of him, pretending to be intently drawing to disguise it.

“But you’re not stuck forever, Abed,” Britta presses, and that edge of  _ Abed doesn’t know any better _ seeps into her words. “You can always cut the handcuffs off, you know?”

Something about the pressure rubs Troy the wrong way, and he desperately wants to change the subject. He swivels as best he can from the confines of the hoodie, holding his hand up in a  _ stop _ gesture, the pencil clasped tightly between two fingers. “Chill out, Britta. The handcuffs don’t bother us, okay?”

“Sorry,” Britta sighs, slumping in her seat as she admits defeat. She crosses her arms as she pouts at the table. “I’m just feeling a little stressed. I’m running a little low on money right now.”

“What? Did you lose it all in a bet or something?” Troy jokes, chuckling to himself as he adds some shading to the robot. 

“Or something,” she mutters. “Jury’s still out.”

Shirley clears her throat, and attempts to subtly remind Britta through eyebrow movements and mouthing that she would’ve already lost. Annie, spying the confused expressions on both Troy and Abed’s faces, draws the attention to herself by dragging her text book closer to her, her voice a tad over the top as she says, “We still have a test to study for, guys!”

—

The next week passes with relative ease, complete with Britta hosting a games night (in which they attempt to play Twister, with Troy and Abed playing as one. It proves to be about as difficult as one would imagine, with them falling onto their faces more often than not. Troy tries not to dwell on the moment where Abed had lost his balance and fallen on top of him, their limbs entwining and his lips coming to rest against Abed’s neck. Abed didn’t automatically move away. (He thinks about it every night thereafter.)), as well as going ten-pin bowling. (No one can understand why they thought it would be a good idea, especially when two of them are linked. Troy may be able to write left-handed but that’s the extent of his abilities. (Jeff’s the first to discover this when he almost gets a bowling ball to the face.))

“You ready?” Abed asks, his free hand covering his eyes so he doesn’t accidentally see the shirt Troy’s chosen to wear for the evening (which Troy finds beyond adorable given that he’s already facing the other direction). 

Troy fixes the sleeve before tugging slightly on the handcuff to signal for Abed to turn around, a grin on his face in anticipation. “Let’s get this birthday celebration started!” 

Despite having known him for over two years and having learnt the subtle changes in Abed that remain invisible to everyone else, he doesn’t catch the way Abed’s breath hitches just so as his eyes land on him. He does catch the lingering stare, though, and his heart picks up in speed.

Troy leads the way down the hall, his hand gripped tight in Abed’s. He makes for the stairs leading down, confusion colouring his features when he’s pulled to a stop. His mouth opens in confusion, but Abed tilts his head in the direction of the stairs leading up and offers him a smile. Abed squeezes his hand, gently tugging as he leads them up one, two, three flights of stairs, stopping at the door leading to the roof. 

Abed turns to face him, excitement glimmering in his eyes. “Ready?” 

Troy nods, a little confused (scratch that, he’s  _ very confused. _ Were the others already waiting up here? He thought they were going out to that fancy restaurant for his birthday.), but he follows Abed into the cold air. It’s a moment before his eyes take in the scene laid out ten metres in front of them, and his breath catches in his throat. 

It’s like a scene from a movie, Troy thinks distantly. There’s fairy lights strung up on the barrier along the edge of the roof, casting a rainbow hue over a blanket spread over the ground, laden with an abundance of blankets and pillows. A basket sits on the edge with Abed’s laptop situated on top. Despite the chill in the air, the arrangement in front of them fills Troy with warmth and a sense of home. 

“You like it?” Abed asks, the touch of apprehension behind his words causing Troy to realise he hasn’t yet uttered a word. 

“Yeah, Abed,” he breathes out, his eyes meeting Abed’s. There’s a gleam there, a reflection of the fairy lights, and Troy can’t even begin to describe how beautiful he is. “I love it. How’d you do it?”

“I messaged the others to see if they could set it all up, because it would’ve been difficult to keep it a secret from you given our predicament. Jeff tried to bribe me to do his homework in return, but Annie wouldn’t let him do that. And then Shirley suggested it could be like a joint birthday present, and I figured you’d be okay with that.”

Troy nods, and starts toward the pile of manchester, his grip on Abed’s hand tight. He takes a seat on one of the cushions and pulls the basket closer to them, handing the laptop to Abed before rifling through the snack items. Abed pulls out some plastic champagne glasses and fills them with Troy’s favourite fizzy drink. 

The door leading to the stairs creaks open, and out steps Annie, a box of pizza in her hands. As she steps closer, she scans her eyes over them, no doubt taking in the close proximity and how sweet they look dressed in their sweaters, and mirth dances in her eyes. She places the pizza in front of them, then gestures to the set up. “I hope you like it.”

“I really do. It’s perfect, Annie.” Troy moves so he’s leaning forward and gives her a one-armed hug, grabbing her hand when she pulls away and squeezing. “Thank you.”

“Oh, well, it was all Abed’s idea. Although I did add some little touches here and there,” she adds coyly. “Well, I’ll be in the apartment, so text if you need anything, but aside from that, enjoy your evening!” 

Abed thanks her again for setting everything up, and she waves him off but grins at the praise. Annie retreats quickly, flashing them a warm smile before she pulls the door shut behind her. As Abed fiddles with the computer, Troy grabs a slice of pizza and holds it out for Abed to take a bite, before resting his head on his shoulder. 

“What do you want to watch?” Abed says, spinning the screen towards Troy, the Netflix homepage loaded up. 

Troy scrolls through the suggestions, his tongue poking out slightly as his eyes scan over the options. It’s a minute before one comes to mind, and he angles the screen away from Abed, uttering that it’s a surprise as he types in the title. He presses play on the movie and rests the computer atop the picnic basket. 

“Ah, Batman,” Abed says, recognising the opening audio. He nods down at their linked arms. “You picked it ‘cause of the–”

“The handcuffs? Yeah. It seemed like a fitting choice.”

Troy shifts the pizza box closer before settling into the warmth Abed provides. He munches on a slice of his own, his feet happily tapping against the other in excitement. It’s not long before he finds himself immersed in the film, his head once again coming to rest against Abed’s shoulder. 

A shiver runs down his body as a particularly cold breeze flows around them, and Abed pulls a spare blanket from the pile and drapes it across their laps. He smooths the blanket over their legs, ensuring they’re securely wrapped in it’s warmth, before his hand comes to rest over their joined hands, enclosing around the side of Troy’s hand that was exposed. 

Troy hums at the heat radiating between them, and nudges closer against Abed’s arm, wanting nothing more than to feel them embracing him and cuddling into his chest. He can feel himself being drawn into a soft lull, his eyelids feel a little heavier as sleep calls to him. He forces them open, though, and runs a hand through his hair before leaning forward to grab another slice of pizza. 

As he goes to lean back, Abed presses a firm hand against his back, keeping him in place. When Troy shoots him a quizzical look, Abed gestures for him to spin around in order to lay comfortably between his legs. (It’s the same movement from when Troy joined in on Abed’s film class and had to sit on his lap.) Troy settles into the embrace, Abed’s arms wrapping securely around him, and the close proximity is enough for his heart to notably pick up speed. He fleetingly wonders whether Abed notices, but the only response is the even rise and fall of his chest and the steady heartbeat against his back. 

They’re nearing the end of the movie when Troy speaks up. His voice is nearly inaudible against the breeze and audio of the movie. “Abed?”

“Yeah, Troy?” Abed murmurs, and his voice is oh, so close to his ear, his breath so warm, that a shiver runs up his spine and he momentarily forgets what he intended on saying. 

“Thank you for setting all this up. It’s seriously awesome. I really appreciate the thought you put into the whole surprise.”

Abed hums, and it’s a moment before he speaks. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

“Of course I do,” Troy says, and he fights to keep his eyes on the movie. “I love everything you do for me.”

“I didn’t want to wind up disappointing you,” Abed confesses, his voice having dropped to a whisper. 

“Abed…” Troy breathes out, his heart clenching at the change in tone. He shifts around until their faces are aligned, his eyes intent as he scans over Abed’s face before settling on his eyes. “You know you could never disappoint me, right?”

Abed nods, but it’s half-hearted and Troy isn’t convinced the message got through. “I guess I was just overthinking it all. It seemed more… important, I guess. Like there was more at stake.”

“What do you mean?”

Abed’s eyes drop, and Troy picks up on the tense feeling settling over them and he lowers his too, their linked hands coming into his line of sight. He tightens the grip, giving a soft squeeze in the hopes of conveying that  _ it’s okay _ and  _ take your time. _ “I don’t know, exactly, how to say it, because I’m still struggling to understand it myself.”

Troy waits a minute, trying to determine whether any implications are hiding there, but his mind draws a blank, and instead he focuses on providing support. “Well, you know you can always talk to me about it, or anything for that matter. I’ll be here if you just need someone to listen, and maybe provide the occasional input.”

“Thanks, Troy.” His face softens into a smile and he places his hand atop theirs, squeezing lightly. “I’ll ruminate on it a little longer and get back to you.”

Troy mirrors the smile, giving Abed a look filled with sincerity and affection, before he returns to the position they were in minutes earlier. This time, however, Troy draws Abed’s arms tighter around him. (And maybe, just maybe, he presses the lightest of kisses to the arm to his left. That’ll remain something between the two of them.)

It hits Troy, when they’re lying in bed a couple hours later, that the whole evening had a rather romantic atmosphere to it, and he doesn’t really know how to react. He’s not even that surprised, and it only heightens the turmoil in his head. There’s an abundance of films he could compare the evening to, where the lead gets surprised with a picnic (check) on a rooftop (check), with their favourite drink, food and movie (check, check, and check). Surely Abed would already know this and must be aware of how it could come across. 

He’s surprised Abed hadn’t already brought up the similarities, because they just seem so obvious that Abed would hate for that observation to go amiss. But then again, maybe he was just as immersed in the movie as Troy, too busy enjoying the awesomeness of Batman to take note of anything else, and Troy can’t really blame him there. 

—

When he wakes the next morning, Troy’s struck with the odd sense that  _ something _ is going to change, an overwhelming feeling of something unknown yet monumental about to take place, and that scares him a little. He can’t begin to describe it, though, unable to determine where that feeling is coming from. 

The familiarity of the day preceding as usual is at war with the idea that everything’s going to change, and it sets him in a state of restlessness. They meet up with the others for lunch, all of them eager to discover how the evening went. Jeff even disregards his phone, much to the surprise of those who notice, and he sends a fake scowl their way. And Troy’s so busy gushing about how amazing everything looked and how perfect it was, that he misses the knowing stares shared by the others. (What he doesn’t miss, however, is when Britta tries to subtly insinuate it was a date. (He doesn’t offer up a response. Something pulls deep in his chest at the idea of disproving it, especially with the weight of Abed’s eyes on him.)) 

When Abed offhandedly mentions how he wished he’d taken a picture of the set-up, Annie overrides the conversation, excitedly withdrawing her phone and pointing out her little additions to the set-up in the many photos she had taken. He uses that moment to whisper to Troy, “Did you want to go see The Avengers this afternoon?”

“Yes! I was going to ask you later as, like, a thank you for last night.”

“You don’t have to do that. I did that as a birthday present.”

“And I wanna do this as a thank you,” Troy counters. His thumb moves in a sweeping motion along Abed’s hand, and he settles back into his seat, watching the others chatter amongst themselves. 

(Although Troy thinks it at multiple points during the outing, neither of them acknowledge that it’s practically a date. Not when Troy pays for the tickets and the popcorn (although Abed had to concede on that once he’d realised just how adamant Troy would be about repaying him for last night), nor when they cuddle a little closer during the action-heavy scenes. (Troy had prepared a whole explanation on his part if Abed had’ve asked, but it wasn’t required.) Neither of them bring up the mere possibility that it could be a date, even after Abed’s lips press gently against the top of Troy’s head. (Troy offers one in return against Abed’s knuckles.))

—

It’s a rare occasion to be linked with someone for a total of thirteen days, seven hours and twenty-three minutes, if Abed has accurately calculated. The removal of the handcuffs is a monumental moment, even moreso when the discovery of the key was entirely unexpected. (Annie had thought that hiding the key in the bottom of the fruit bowl had been a wise idea, but she hadn’t anticipated Troy and Abed wanting to attempt Real Life Fruit Ninja.)

Rubbing his wrist gingerly, Troy stares at the handcuffs laid discarded on the bench. It’s bizarre to see the metal separate from his body. He takes a step back, outstretching his arms and turning in circles, noting how  _ light _ it feels to not be attached to anything. Abed follows suit. They bask in the feeling of freedom, letting the distance wash over them. It doesn’t last long, however, before the emptiness surrounding the space beside them overwhelms them, the few metres between them feeling like kilometres. ( _ Britta would probably try to diagnose me with Stockholm Syndrome _ , Troy idly thinks. He tries not to put any weight into the imaginary diagnosis.)

Abed glances at the floor beside him, then at Troy (and maybe Troy’s reading into things, but he swears longing is the prominent expression on Abed’s face) before he takes a seat on the couch. Wordlessly, Troy follows, sitting on the left as he’s so grown accustomed to over the past almost two weeks, their legs touching as Troy reaches for Abed’s hand. The warmth between them is familiar, the feel of their hands intertwined wholly natural. Abed’s smile provides him with a kind of comfort he’s never experienced elsewhere. 

Sitting there in a silence that resembles one you’d find on a TV show where the two main characters are about to reveal their feelings, Troy’s reminded of a phrase he’d come across on Tumblr once.  _ “We both drowned under the waves of words we weren’t saying.” _ At the time, Troy had understood it only in regards to himself, thinking himself to be the only one incapable of confessing his deepest feelings aloud. But when he glances over at Abed, sees his mouth agape in the way that means there’s something he wants to say but can’t bring himself to utter the words… he realises that maybe he’s not alone in feeling this way. 

Troy squeezes his hand, drawing his attention away from the confines of his thoughts, and chooses a topic that can ease them into a conversation they probably should’ve had a long time ago. “So… now that the handcuffs have been removed and are safely intact, did you wanna tell me why you couldn’t cut them off?” 

“They mean something special to me,” Abed quietly responds and it’s obvious there’s more he wants to say, and Troy’s looking at him in such a way that he continues, because they’ve spent every single moment of the past thirteen days linked together so it’s not like there’s much secrecy left between them. “Okay, you know how they’re the prop from Batman?”

Troy nods, prompting him on, his gentle expression unwavering. 

“It was while we first watched Batman together that I realised…” Abed trails off, looking down at their hands, at their fingers knitted together (and Troy briefly wonders if Abed can feel the quickening of his pulse), before ardently staring into Troy’s soft, warm, hopeful eyes. “That I had feelings for you.”

It’s like all the air is sucked from his lungs. Given the direction the conversation was heading, he’d had an inkling of an idea about what Abed would confess, but actually hearing it leave his lips… It’s unparalleled to anything else. Is this what bliss feels like?

“You know, when you wore that Batman costume for the first Halloween party,” Troy begins, a grin lighting up his face as he toys with Abed’s fingers, “is when I realised I had feelings for you. I mean, I already thought you were incredibly cool, and then your costume just made it obvious that I was a goner.” 

Their confessions hang in the air, bouncing around in Troy’s skull, making him feel giddy in the best possible way. He’s incapable of keeping the grin off his face, and he knows he’s going to have the sorest cheeks tomorrow but he utterly does not care. There’s nothing like the feeling radiating through his entire body when Abed smiles back at him. 

“Wait, is that why you dressed as Batman?”

Abed shrugs, the smile not leaving his face. “You kept mentioning how cool you thought Batman was when we watched the movie, so I thought it would be worth a shot.” 

Troy squeezes his hand, his other hand reaching up to cup Abed’s face as he leans in. “Definitely worth it,” he mumbles, lips mere millimetres apart, their breath mingling. He pressed forward, connecting their lips, unable to resist not knowing what those lips feel like against his a second longer. 

It’s not like fireworks, a small part of Troy is mildly devastated to discover, but instead is something Troy hadn’t realised he’d been yearning for his entire life. It’s as though his entire being is filling up with the warmest emotions he’s currently too preoccupied to bother naming, and he never wants to experience anything less than this. 

Abed’s left hand caresses his face, thumb running over his cheek in a soft motion as Troy envelops it with his own hand. 

“You know,” Abed whispers as he pulls back, his eyes focussing on Troy’s hand resting against his thigh. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever tell you how I felt, because I didn’t know if I was reading into things.”

“Like what?” 

“Like all those, I don’t know, intimate kind of moments, if that’s the right word, where you’d then freeze and pull away.”

Troy flushes, averting his eyes. “I kind of find myself caught up in this, like, little bubble of you where I forget everything else around us, and then I start freaking out because I really want to kiss you and I worry that you notice, because you notice  _ everything, _ and I don’t know. I just didn’t want to ruin anything between us.”

“That makes sense. It did confuse me, because I’d seen similar things in shows and movies, but I didn’t know if it correlated with us, and I didn’t want to ruin anything between us, either, by asking questions in case I got things wrong.” He goes quiet for a minute, but Troy senses that he’s not finished yet. “Last night, when you put Batman on, I was tempted to confess my feelings, but it was your birthday, and I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Self doubt resounds under the surface of Abed’s words and Troy’s heart aches. 

“Abed…” He resolutely squeezes his hand and draws Abed’s eyes up by lifting his chin, moving his hand slightly to cup his cheek. “You could never ruin anything, okay? Especially with me. I know most people struggle to understand you, and that you use media to cope with the world and that there’s things you do differently because of that. But that’s one of the best things about you. I  _ love _ that about you, because it makes you, you. I don’t want you to change or doubt yourself just because you happen to be different.”

Abed nods, his left hand curling around the nape of Troy’s neck, idly brushing against the short hair. “I know that. I do. I just couldn’t risk messing up the best thing in my life. Because you are, Troy, and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Troy responds instantly, moving closer until his breath touches Abed’s lips. “You can be quite the romantic, you know that?”

Abed doesn’t respond, choosing to connect their lips instead. It amazes Troy the many ways in which Abed manages to take his breath away, and he thinks this might just be his favourite. 

“Did you know,” Troy breathes against his lips, pulling back just enough to gaze into his eyes, “it was just after Halloween last year that I realised I was in love with you?” 

Abed microscopically shakes his head, but he softly admits, “Same here.” 

Troy’s heart skips yet another beat. “Also, ever since then, I don’t know why but whenever I hear an ABBA song, I get reminded of how much I love you. Like, an overwhelming amount.”

“That’s kind of odd. I don’t think we’ve ever listened to ABBA together.”

Troy shakes his head. “Yeah, we haven’t. Annie plays it a fair bit, though. Almost like she knows.”

Abed hums, his head moving intrinsically closer, stopping when his breath fans out on Troy’s face. “Can I kiss you again?”

A simple tilt of his head and an almost whimper of a “please” is confirmation enough. 

—

“Hey, Troy?” Abed breathes out, eyes fixed on the TV as reruns of  _ Inspector Spacetime _ play. 

Troy hums in response. He presses another gentle kiss to Abed’s hand and fiddles with his fingers, tracing along the lines of his palm. He’s wrapped in Abed’s arm, curled into his side, and he never ever wants to move, except to kiss Abed some more, he thinks. 

“You didn’t put the key in the fruit bowl, did you?”

“No.” Troy frowns.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah! It must’ve grown legs and climbed into the bowl, like that episode of Inspector Spacetime.”

Abed sighs happily as he recalls that episode, then shakes his head. “Well, I was actually thinking that Annie found the key and hid it in there.”

Troy furrows his eyebrows. “Why would she do that? Unless…” Troy’s fingers pause their movements and he scowls as the answer becomes obvious. “The group made a bet on how long we’d last in the handcuffs, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, that’s the most likely scenario.”

Troy hums, pondering that for a minute. It’s really not that surprising given the ridiculous bets they’ve made over the past couple of years. (Some of his favourites included: betting how many shirts he could wear at once. Whether or not he and Abed could fit inside a vending machine, and then whether they could escape on their own. Just how long they could communicate in a made-up language before the study group intervenes. (They only lasted nine minutes.))

When he feels Abed shift beside him, he sits forward and faces him, being sure to not break the contact between them. Abed’s eyes have a glint to them as he poses the question, “Did you wanna trick the study group?”

“Yeah!” His face lights up. “How?”

“I was thinking we should put the handcuffs back on before Annie returns and pretend we’re still stuck, and then tomorrow, we walk into the study room and take our normal seats.”

“That’s brilliant,” Troy grins. Then a beat before he asks, “How long ‘til Annie gets back?”

“Another twenty minutes. Why?”

“No reason…” Troy trails off, shifting until he’s once again face to face with Abed, resting on his lap with his legs on either side of Abed’s thighs, fingers carding through his soft hair. Abed’s hands automatically rise to rest on his hips, as though this is a position they’re frequently in, providing a slight grip to keep him steady. “I just wanna kiss you some more, is all.”

—

It’s been three hours since they confessed their feelings, and Annie didn’t think anything was amiss when she walked through the door to find Troy and Abed curled up on the couch together (and surprisingly didn’t question Troy’s ramblings when she asked what they did while she was out). They kept the handcuffs on until they entered the blanket fort, figuring that with her early morning class, Annie wouldn’t disturb them in the morning. 

Wrapped in Abed’s arms, sleep eludes Troy, which is unsurprising given all the kisses they’ve shared had done nothing but send adrenaline coursing through his entire body. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this giddy or content, or even just full of love. Sure, before today he’d held hands with Abed, cuddled him, kissed him (albeit once in the Dreamatorium), but nothing accentuates doing those things freely and with the knowledge that this is what Abed wants too. 

However, it’s not until Abed makes an off-hand comment about how they won’t need to share the small bed after tomorrow that Troy freezes, realising they haven’t actually yet discussed what tonight’s revelations mean for their relationship. It’s a little confusing, though. First, Abed wants to kiss him, and continue holding his hand, and admitted to having held feelings for him for over a year, and now he wants to go back to sleeping in separate beds? And all while cuddling Troy?

At first, Troy childishly contemplates pretending he’s asleep, just to put off any heartbreak he fears may occur, but he’s 22 years old, and a firm believer that all relationships should be built on honesty. 

“I like sleeping next to you,” he quietly admits, as though it’s an intimate secret. He traces along his wrist where the handcuffs no longer reside in an attempt to distract from the ache in his chest. Abed’s free hand brushes over his fingers for a moment, before easing them gently into interlocking with his. 

“Troy?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’d be happy to get a bigger bed for us, because, to be honest, the idea of not having you asleep next to me makes my chest feel heavy. I just didn’t want to pressure you into moving too quickly.”

Troy briefly wonders just how many of Abed’s confessions are going to send his heart racing and fill his body with an exponential amount of warmth. (He’s looking forward to finding out, though.) He pushes himself further up the bed so his head is level with Abed’s, and before he can begin to lean in, Abed’s already connecting their lips. Repeatedly, he pulls back just to take in the look on Abed’s face (which is a sight he can’t ever imagine tiring of), just to kiss him again. 

“We’ve been dancing around each other for well over a year. I think it’s time.” Troy settles into the crook of Abed’s neck, placing a soft kiss there. “Does this mean we’re boyfriends?”

Abed hums, pulling Troy in closer. “If you’ll have me.”

“Always, Abed.” Troy brings Abed’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to each finger. “I’ll always want you.” 

Abed sighs contentedly, pulling Troy closer into him and enjoying the soft tickle of Troy murmuring sweet nothings against his neck. The hand of the arm cradling the back of Troy’s head comes to rest in Troy’s hair, fingers massaging gently, eliciting soft sounds from him. Curled up, neither of them would even know where a part of them ends and the other begins. 

—

Troy awakens to find Abed gazing at him, smile forming upon seeing Troy’s eyes open. Abed raises his hand to ever-so-gently brush against the side of Troy’s face, coming to a rest against the nape of his neck. He lazily fiddles with the short hair there, leaning in and kissing Troy, murmuring an almost husky greeting against his lips. 

Troy presses forward, reconnecting their lips until he’s breathless and has to lean back against the pillow. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just how I don’t have to resist the urge to kiss you when I wake up.”

—

The study group are already seated around the table, both Jeff and Annie eager as they’re now on the fourteenth day of their bet. They’re chatting idly amongst themselves when Troy and Abed walk in, holding hands and wearing long sleeves, so the absence of the handcuffs isn’t noticeable. 

Jeff visibly perks up when he spies their joined hands, sending a knowing smirk to those sitting at the table. He leans back on his chair, revelling in how close to victory he is, and watches as Troy and Abed round the table while sending waves and greetings towards the others. 

At the last possible moment, they drop their linked hands and take their original seats, promptly ignoring the shocked expressions and gasps they receive in response, and the way Jeff’s face absolutely drops while they retrieve their study supplies from their backpacks. Abed waves at Britta before he flips through his Biology textbook. 

The group silently turn on Annie after the initial shock sinks in, and she’s utterly flabbergasted, her mouth moving like a fish. How had they found the key? She’d brainstormed places to hide it, writing it all on paper complete with diagrams and dot points, convinced they wouldn’t be able to find it. 

“So…” Abed starts, drawing the attention their way. “I’m sure you guys have some questions.”

Britta answers coolly with a, “You could say that,” while the others throw out ‘duh doy’s and ‘obviously’s.

Troy reveals that they’d found the key yesterday after their date (to which Annie squeals upon Troy’s use of the word ‘date’. Troy flushes and softly smiles at Abed, squeezing his hand, who smiles at Annie in response) and that because it was hidden in the fruit bowl, they figured she must have found it earlier (“Because I may be stupid, but I’m not stupid enough to put it in the  _ fruit bowl _ of all places.”) and therefore there must have been a bet. 

Annie sinks into her seat, mumbling that, “Okay,  _ maybe _ I found the key on day twelve when they were celebrating Troy’s birthday, but I knew they’d be able to handle another couple of days so I didn’t think it was a big deal.” 

“Annie shouldn’t get the money,” Jeff argues, zeroing in on this revelation as he addresses the others involved in the bet. “She purposefully hid the key as leverage, so she’d win the bet.”

“And what? You’d get the money? You practically mediated them, what, with the hoodie and pretending like they were stupid for seeing how long they could keep the cuffs on, because you knew they’d want to prove you wrong. All so they’d stay stuck together for three weeks.”

Troy’s eyes widens comedically, eyebrows raised as he looks at Abed and mouths, “Three weeks?!”

“The bet, if you recall, was for when Troy and Abed get sick of each other and beg to have the handcuffs removed, which did not happen. They’d probably still be content to remain attached at the wrists.” Jeff’s eyes bounce from person to person before glancing at the boys in the corner, spying Troy’s hand soothingly rubbing Abed’s in an unconscious manner. He gestures to them with a “See?” before holding his hand out to Annie for the bet money. She begrudgingly hands it to him, crossing her arms and pouting at the table. 

“Here,” Jeff says to Abed, handing the wad of cash to Britta and gesturing for her to pass it along. “Use this to take your boyfriend on a date or to a convention or whatever it is you nerds do.”

Abed runs his fingers through the notes, counting before he pockets the money and looks over at Jeff with a neutral expression. “I never said we were boyfriends.”

“You aren’t?” Annie gasps, wide eyes darting back and forth between her roommates. 

“No, we are. You know what they say about assuming, though, Jeff? It makes an ass out of you and me,” he says, tracing the letters of the word ‘assume’ in the air.

“Abed!” Shirley chastises, a hand pressed dramatically to her chest. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugs. “Thought it’d be funny to mess with you once more. And I was right.”

“Yeah,” Troy chuckles. “You guys should’ve seen the looks on your faces! Hilarious!” 

Britta gently places her hand over Abed’s free one and offers them a warm smile. “Well, I, for one, am incredibly happy for you both.”

“I am, too, you guys. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Annie says, her beaming smile transforming into a pout as she adds, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, though.”

“Abed wanted to mess with you,” Troy explains, “and it wouldn’t’ve worked if you knew, because we know you would’ve pestered us to tell you how it happened. Plus, you did kind of hide the key on us, so…” 

Annie gasps, before she closes her mouth.

“Where did you find the key, anyway, Annie?”

“I decided to do some laundry while you were on the rooftop, and I checked under your bunk bed and found a pair of Troy’s jeans. And I checked the pockets, because one time I’d accidentally washed a cheque for $300,” she says, shuddering at the memory. “And in the pocket was the key.” She shrugs, the key almost an afterthought in comparison to the horror of the cheque. 

Troy’s eyes widen in realisation, recalling that first day, and he sinks down in his seat, his thumb tracing the notches on the side of the table as Abed says his name. “Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you remember what you said when I asked you if you had the key?”

Troy hums out a sound that’s a mix of  _ uh _ and  _ mhm, _ and the group watches in fascination at the event unfolding before them. 

“And?”

Troy sighs. “I said that I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to put the key in my pocket and then forget about it.”

“Exactly. But…” Abed says, his lips upturning slightly. “I should thank you. I probably wouldn’t have confessed when I did if we hadn’t been handcuffed for two weeks, so thank you for being stubborn enough to not check your pockets.”

A grin makes it’s way to Troy’s face, and before he can stop himself, he’s leaning forward and drawing Abed into a kiss. It lasts long enough for Jeff to cough in order to break them up, and Troy averts his gaze, his cheeks flushed. 

“How did it happen?” Shirley asks enthusiastically. “The confession.”

“Well, after Troy found the key, we took the handcuffs off and sat down on the couch, and Troy asked why I’d refused to break the handcuffs earlier. I’d originally said it was because they’re a prop from the movie and were expensive, which remains true, but the main reason was because I realised I had feelings for him when we first watched Batman together.”

“You watched that early on, didn’t you?” Britta interrupts. 

“Yeah,” Troy answers, a glimmer in his eyes as he fondly recalls that afternoon. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.” He grins at Abed, who nods in return, before continuing Abed’s explanation. “Anyways, that’s when I told him that it was seeing him in his Batman costume at Annie’s party that made me realise I felt something for him. And then we realised just how long we’d been dancing around our feelings, and so I asked him to be my boyfriend.”

“That’s so sweet,” Annie gushes, and then she’s asking more questions about their feelings, and Troy’s reciting the moments over the past few weeks in which he’s felt utterly in love with Abed. 

“Oh, get a room, you two,” Jeff interjects from across the room. 

“Why would we do that when we could just pull a you and Britta and have sex on the table?” Abed retorts. 

Shirley chokes on her water, and the group descends into their usual chaos. Troy leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, watching in adoration as the people he cares the most in the world about bicker lovingly with each other. 

Movement to his left catches his eye, and he watches as Abed shifts his chair closer. Troy uses the close proximity to pull Abed onto his lap, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck as he wraps his arms securely around his waist. Abed sighs contentedly at the weight of Troy’s arms, and Troy’s eyes draw to a close as he breathes in the comforting and familiar smell of Abed. He never wants to give this up. 

Troy pretends he doesn’t hear the  _ click _ of a photo being taken. 

—

“Welcome back, our lovely viewers, to another episode of Troy and Abed in the Morning!” Troy greets the imaginary camera from behind the bench, his mug filled with Special Drink. 

“You may have noticed the handcuffs,” Abed says, raising their linked hands to the audience, light reflecting off the chain. “We’ve just spent two weeks linked together by this pair of handcuffs, the very same which were featured in the first Batman movie, and the whole situation ultimately led to us dating.”

“Yeah, sorry to the folks at home, but Abed’s taken,” Troy says, pressing a kiss to Abed’s cheek. “By me, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Our first night of being handcuffed, we attempted to make pasta together, which did not end well.”

“No, it did not. We had to throw out one of our pots.”

“Yes, it turns out that burnt pasta is very hard to remove once it’s melded with the metal.”

Troy nods solemnly. “Lesson learned. Well, we figured that after two weeks of experience being handcuffed, we’d attempt to make pasta again as a little treat for our lovely audience.”

Fifteen minutes later, Annie walks through the front door and is greeted by the sight of Troy and Abed covered in sauce and half-cooked spaghetti. Their laughter ceases immediately as they catch sight of her stricken expression. They just stare at each other, and Troy thinks that if this moment were shown in a sitcom, that the camera would go repeatedly back and forth between them before zooming in on the unwavering disappointment featured on Annie’s face.

“Seriously, guys? Again?”

They drop their heads in shame, and Troy tries to explain they set out to recreate the experience for the audience, but somehow wound up in a food fight. (He doesn’t mention that sauce tastes better when it’s on Abed’s lips.) 

“We’ll clean it up,” Troy assures her, turning to face Abed with his hand held out. “Do you have the key?”

“I gave you the key.”

Annie glances back and forth between them, her eyes widening in disbelief as she watches them pat their pockets. “Oh, my god.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to jealous-kippen on tumblr for the idea to have an end tag, and also for listening to me talk about this fic for two months <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ 2x06


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